


the signs of a lifetime

by littlelocaldreamer, Tedda



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Rookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25359658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelocaldreamer/pseuds/littlelocaldreamer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedda/pseuds/Tedda
Summary: Jonny’s nothing if not devoted.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 5
Kudos: 121





	the signs of a lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> song by wolf alice, “don’t delete the kisses”— here lies angst. proceed with caution

Jonny’s nothing if not devoted.

The first time they hooked up he muttered into Patrick’s sweat damp curls afterwards, “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

He thought Patrick was passed out.

He wasn’t.

So he’s never had a doubt that when he started sleeping with Jonny it was ultimately going to end up serious. Jonny doesn’t do anything halfway.

He just didn’t think the pieces would fall into place so _quickly_.

He’s not ready.

||

The ring burns a hole in Jonny’s pocket. He keeps wiping the palms of his hands down his ill-fitting jeans.

“There’s no reason not to get custom-made slacks now, Jonny. You’re a millionaire. And you’re also a liar if you think that gigantic ass of yours is gonna fit in something from JC Penny.”

The table howls while Sharpy smirks, looking all too pleased with himself.

Jonny rolls his eyes, annoyed but tolerant. The chirping’s a welcome distraction. He can’t stop thinking about Patrick.

It makes him feel silly and embarrassed but Jonny hates when Patrick doesn’t sit with him during team functions. He knows he’s possessive of his people, but it never comes from a place of control.

He’s just incredibly selective with who he spends his spare time, and Jonny is often considered a friend to people who he doesn’t return the sentiment to.

He’s likable, charming. Driven and responsible. Not bad to look at, either.

He knows he’s a catch.

But there’s only one person he has his eye on.

The team gets up as the table is cleared. Jonny doesn't follow everyone leaving right away, though.

When Patrick turns to raise an eyebrow at him, he vaguely points his thumb towards the vending machine, relieved when the last of the guys vacate the area.

He puts a few coins into the machine, then remembers that Patrick grabbed water bottles for their room just this morning, so he buys a cookie instead.

It’s crumbly and dry, but fine. After the third bite he remembers that the team doctors told him to stay away from gluten until they have his stomach problems figured out. Too late now and he hates wasting food, so he eats the other half, tossing the empty wrapper into a nearby trash can.

His hands are shaking.

Maybe he should be doing more. Maybe he should have bought a nice bouquet of flowers, put on a suit. Patrick deserves the entire big charade and Jonny would organize it if he thought that was something Patrick wanted.

But this—just them and the ring—seems more fitting. More like them.

And that's all Jonny can focus on—making Patrick happy. Making sure Patrick knows that Jonny is wiling to do anything to make that happen.

He might be too intense and too blunt sometimes, but he always has his people's backs and Patrick is his guy more than anyone else will ever be. All he wants is to make it official, to look at Patrick's hand and see that he's Jonny's, and to feel the reminder on his own finger.

The ring feels heavy in his pocket.

“Hey.”

Jonny swallows down the lump in his throat, squaring his shoulders back to his full height.

Jonathan Toews isn’t afraid of anything.

“Hey Kaner,” he replies, turning around.

He always forgets how much smaller Patrick is than him. Jonny doesn’t think either of them is going to grow much more; might lose the baby faces, put on some muscle, but overall neither one of them is gaining any more height.

Jonny’s used to being with Patrick out on ice, where no one comments on his size because his speed is what’s got everyone’s attention. Or being with him in bed, where they’re still facing one another, but more horizontal.

Jonny wants to press his lips to Patrick’s temple, wants to take both of his massive, capable hands in his own.

He takes a deep breath instead.

He should probably get down on one knee, that’s what he’s seen in all the movies. But when Patrick looks up at him, grin wide and curious, all Jonny wants to do is wrap him up in his arms.

He doesn’t do anything for a moment though, voices passing by interrupting his thoughts.

Patrick lightly taps his shoe with his sneaker, humming under his breath.

“We gonna stay here all day?”

Jonny scrunches his nose, chlorine from the hotel pool invading his nostrils.

He should have thought about what to say, he realizes, when Patrick keeps staring at him in silence. Not that he needs to give a grand speech, but he was so focused on picking the perfect ring—one that Patrick would love to put on until the day he dies—that he didn't plan anything beyond that.

All he knows is that he can't fuck this up, that there's only one chance to get this right.

His heart hammers in his chest over the white noise of the A/C.

"I—" he starts, pausing to fish the ring out of his pocket.

The smile vanishes from Patrick's face as he registers what Jonny’s holding, curls wild and messy around his rapidly blushing cheekbones.

Jonny forces himself to meet his bright, blue eyes.

"Marry me," he blurts out.

Patrick's mouth falls open but the glint of joy in his eyes that Jonny expected never comes. His face falters, mouth twisting, and he takes a step back.

Jonny's heart drops. He feels sick suddenly as the painful realization hits him.

Patrick's saying no. He's rejecting him. Patrick doesn't want him and that hurts so much he's struggling to breathe. A tight sensation wraps around his lungs, an uncomfortable shiver running along his spine.

He means to drop to one knee, to make sure Patrick understands what's he's asking—offering—but Patrick cradles his face in his hands and Jonny's unable to move. He hates himself for putting all that sorrow and sadness into his eyes.

"I can't," Patrick whispers, voice cracking.

Jonny opens his mouth but no words come out.

“Jonny,” Patrick murmurs, serious and soft, eyes dropping to where Jonny’s fingers are surely white from how tightly they’re gripping the ring. “This is...insane.”

Jonny takes a deep breath, desperate not to appear like he’s drowning. He doesn’t flush but he can still feel blood gathering at the bottom of his neck, pinpricking its way up to the tips of his ears.

He’s so embarrassed he’s nauseous with it immediately—or maybe that’s the cookie. Either way, if he doesn’t reach a toilet soon, he’s going to throw up all over the cheap floral hotel carpet.

He brushes past Patrick, thoughts scattered and stomach churning. He hears Patrick call after him but the ringing inside his head is louder. He uses his longer legs to his advantage, rounding the corner and disappearing from sight quickly.

He’s so fucking stupid.

How could he fuck this up so bad.

He and Patrick have been fooling around for months, so comfortable in bed with one another Jonny swears they were lovers in a past life. When Patrick allowed Jonny inside his body for the first time, Jonny nearly cried afterwards from the intensity of it.

Up until tonight he thought Patrick was just as invested; in just as deep. But the look on his face—like Jonny was crazy or—

_This is insane._

Jonny rushes into a rest room, thankfully abandoned. He barely makes it into the stall before he’s vomiting what’s left of his breakfast and cookie. When the wave of sour scent hits him he nearly throws up again. But all that leaves his throat is a painful dry heave.

There’s the sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by heavy footsteps. Jonny dreads leaving the privacy of this 4 wall cubicle, pits sweating out and lips so dry they crack.

He’s a mess.

And he knows he’s been found.

The door falls shut again, the noise echoing through the bathroom stall.

Then comes a barely-there, tentative knock.

Jonny wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, squeezing his eyes shut. His mother picked this shirt out. If only she could see him in it, now.

"Jonny."

The taste in his mouth is so bad he sticks his tongue out, needs to wash away the filth.

He pushes the door open and brushes past Patrick, desperately avoiding his gaze. His hands won’t settle, even when he holds onto one of the sinks, knuckles straining against the pressure.

The silence between them makes it hard to breathe. But he's scared of having to hear it out loud again—the rejection, the "no" to the most important question he has ever asked.

He turns on the water, grateful for the sound, and rinses his mouth. When he spits it out it’s a metallic color. He cringes then inhales, mustering the small amount of courage he has left to turn and finally face Patrick.

Patrick‘s lips part, but Jonny beats him to it.

"Forget about it." His voice cracks. He's trembling with the effort of forcing the words out. "Just—forget I ever said something."

"Jon," Patrick tries again, his voice softer now. His eyes are still blown wide open, like that very first time Jonny pushed into him when he shuddered and gasped through the initial shock, when he looked like he couldn't quite believe how good Jonny felt.

Jonny clenches his hands into fists.

"Please, let's talk about it," Patrick adds. "Let me—"

"There's nothing to talk about," Jonny interrupts, voice sharper than necessary.

He closes his eyes and weakly attempts to ground himself.

Patrick doesn't want him. It's as easy as that. There's nothing else to discuss. No point in making Patrick say it out loud again.

“Jonny,” and his tone bleeds from soft to pleading, “we have our careers to think about—the team—“

Color rapidly drains from Patrick’s face and Jonny can’t imagine he looks much better. Still— it’s not enough to keep him here. He can’t stand the sight of the love of his life trying to let him down in the kindest way possible.

He attempts to flee again but Patrick blocks the exit, looking angry now.

“Will you let me talk?” The words come out harsh and hushed, echoing quietly along the tile walls.

Jonny steps back, frowning.

“What are you even thinking? Putting me in this position?”

He continues, blue eyes wide, “No one even knows we’re—“

Jonny scoffs, taking a step forward, “What? No one knows what, Patrick?”

Jonny never calls Patrick by his full name. It’s always Kaner or Peeks, sometimes Pat. Even “baby” in bed. But—

Patrick glares at him, bottom lip wobbling, and Jonny pushes past him.

He doesn’t turn around as he says, “You can’t even say it.”

He pauses when he gets to the door, breathing heavily as his heart pounds like a bell at dinner time.

“Jon,” Patrick whispers, small, defeated.

“I was wrong,” Jonny says. And with all the chill he can muster, declares, “It won’t happen again.”

He leaves Patrick, fueled by adrenaline to get as far away as possible.

He can’t go back to their shared room, not now. Maybe—not ever.

Fuck.

He doesn’t really remember much of what happens next, so desperate to conceal the onslaught of hot tears he can feel building behind his eye lids.

He ends up at Sharpy’s door, probably looking an absolute mess.

Sharpy doesn’t say anything beyond a look of concern, stepping aside as Jonny breezes past him and collapses on the bed.

Sharpy might be an insufferable asshole most of the time who enjoys pranking him maybe a little too much, but he's also one of Jonny's best friends for this exact reason—for giving him the time he needs, for letting him hide his face in one of Sharpy's pillows for way too long.

He doesn't know what's worse, the humiliation or the rejection.

Finally, Sharpy sighs. "Whatever it is, Kaner will come around."

Jonny squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face deeper into the pillow.

"It might not even be about Kaner."

"Oh please," Sharpy says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's always about Kaner with you. And why else would you avoid your own room?"

Jonny really isn't sure if he's grateful or annoyed that Sharpy knows him so well. And Patrick might be right—they haven't told anyone that they are, or maybe were, a thing or whatever Patrick would call it—but Jonny knows no one would be surprised if they came out as one.

"Just so you know," Sharpy adds when Jonny refuses to be a mature adult and pull away from the pillow. "You have about ten minutes before I'll have Kaner at my doorstep whining about what an idiot you are. I am his favorite teammate, too, you know."

"You're not my favorite teammate, Sharp," he mutters back, finally rolling over.

There's an ugly stain on the ceiling above him.

"I’m everyone's favorite," Sharpy says, softer than usually. He nudges Jonny's shoulder. "C'mon, Jonny. You know I'll let you crash here, but Kaner's never going let it happen."

That is, unfortunately, true. They might yell and scream at each other but at the end of the day, it's usually Patrick who's ready to forget about whatever petty argument they had. He's good at forgiving and not holding grudges. Jonny tends to be more dramatic. He groans and shoves his face back into a pillow.

He almost feels silly, blowing up. But this is so important. And Patrick’s never said no to Jonny before—never made it clear that he doesn’t want him.

The longer he thinks about what happened, the more worked up his body becomes, vibrating with adrenaline. However, he doesn’t get to stew in his misery and angst for long. Just as Sharpy predicted, there’s a couple short, timid knocks a few minutes later.

Jonny grunts, heat from his breath dampening the pillow, heart secretly increasing in rhythm as Sharpy goes over and opens the door with an exaggerated sigh.

“Mr. Kane, what a lovely surprise,” he greets, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jonny rolls his eyes, sparing a moment to ponder if he can dive under the blankets but deciding it’s too late. He peeks his head out of hiding with an annoyed huff.

The air changes immediately as Patrick walks into the room. Jonny turns his back to the door as he straightens and sits up, shoulders strung tight and tense.

Patrick doesn’t say anything and when Jonny hears the door close he knows Sharpy’s left them alone.

There’s a small stretch of awkward silence as Patrick makes his way over, his body heat settling next to Jonny like a warm, weighted blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick breathes, quiet, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jonny squeezes his eyes and hands shut, quickly shaking his head, denial on his tongue.

Patrick grasps his forearm, “Jon, don’t.”

Jonny swallows, begs himself to stay calm.

“I’m just not ready, okay? Doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Jonny thinks of the ring in his pocket, of mountain vacations and a lake house with a joint name and children—

He takes a deep, heaving breath.

“We can have all of it—whatever you want, Jon. After hockey. Okay? After we win the Cup.”

Jonny means to nod, to listen to Patrick and the tiny part inside that agrees with him. They are young. There's so much still ahead of them, so much time left. But what leaves his lips is a soft, broken sound.

"Why wait?" He clears his throat. "Why can't we just- why not now?"

For a moment, Patrick is quiet beside him, his soft, steady breathing the only noise.

Then—

"We're still kids, Jonny. I don't- fuck, I don't even think I can take care of myself. I don't feel ready for that yet. And you're-"

A hand lands on Jonny's shoulder. "You're too important to fuck it up."

Jonny's eyes snap up, finding a shy, hesitant smile on Patrick's lips.

"Please," he adds. "I don't want you to-" His voice cracks. "I love you, okay? That hasn't changed. Never will."

"Then why can't we-" The words get stuck in Jonny's throat.

Patrick's hand moves to his neck, slow and cautious, like he's scared Jonny will push him away.

"I just need time."

"How much?" Jonny croaks out. "A year? Two? Until we have one cup? Until we've signed new contracts? Until-until after our careers?" He forces himself to keep looking at Patrick, even though his chest feels tight. "I don't know if I can wait that long."

Patrick doesn’t hesitate in his response. “Jonny, I can’t answer that. You know I can’t. We’re too young for ultimatums, man. I love you. But c’mon...”

He sighs, shoulders sagging. And Jonny feels a little bad. But—

“Dont gaslight me, Kaner. This is a big deal.”

Patrick looks over at him with barely concealed shock. “Seriously, bro? Of course it’s a big deal. But you’re backing me in a corner.”

He sounds a little pissed, and Jonny feels bad again, rejection forcing him to react poorly. Patrick gets up from the bed and strolls across the room, putting significant space between them. When he turns around, he looks hopelessly sad.

“Jonny—you can do whatever you want. You’re...fuck. You mean a lot to me. But I’m not gonna sit here and allow you to pressure me into something I’m not ready for at 19 years old.”

It's like he's throwing something at Jonny-he reels back as if Patrick physically attacked him.

"I'm not trying to pressure you."

"No," Patrick agrees from the other side of the room, his voice softer again. "You're not trying to. But you're doing it anyways, man, and it's-it doesn't matter whether you mean to or not, okay? I know it's always all or nothing with you, and-I love that. I love you. But you can't get mad that I'm not ready to commit yet. It's not fucking fair, Jon."

Every word feels like a punch to the gut, hammering home the realization—he messed up. He's one giant failure.

"I am not mad," he chokes out, voice unreasonably high-pitched.

Stupid, maybe. Embarrassed, most definitely. Hurt. And feeling so, so guilty for being hurt when he has no right to be.

Patrick doesn't answer but his posture relaxes as he lets out a deep breath, running a hand through his wild curls. He looks impossible young, like he's closer to 14 than 20.

For a moment Jonny thinks Patrick's going to grab his hands and drop to his knees on the floor in front of Jonny—the irony wouldn't be lost on him—but Patrick only sits down next to him, squeezing his hand.

"I'm sorry." He presses his forehead against Jonny's, begging him to meet his gaze, making it impossible to look away even if Jonny ever had enough control to withstand the intensity of his blue eyes. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. Yet."

Jonny bites his tongue. He rolls his forehead gently against Patrick’s, a scent uniquely his filling Jonny’s nostrils. It’s calming, soothing; immediate. Their lips don’t touch but they’re so close Patrick’s warm breath ghosts over his jaw.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jonny breathes, something unraveling inside him.

Patrick reaches for his pocket, the one holding the ring, gently gripping it through the fabric with his warm hand.

“You don’t be either,” he replies, fierce and determined.

Jonny can’t help but smile.

“There we go,” Patrick murmurs, gently brushing his nose against Jonny's. "We good?"

Jonny lets his eyes fall shut. His throat still feels tight but as Patrick runs his thumb along the outline of the ring, something else settles inside of him—the same deep certainty that he's felt every morning for the past few months, waking up with Patrick's head on his chest...that Patrick will be in his arms again at the end of the day.

"Yeah, we're good," he whispers back, feeling a little lighter when Patrick kisses the corner of his lips.

They sit like that for a long time, foreheads pressed together, breathing in the same air, until Jonny isn't focused on matching his breathing to Patrick's anymore. They’re in sync just as seamlessly as they are on the ice— naturally, easy. Right as rain.

When Patrick tries to speak again, his voice wavers at first.

"You-" He grunts, shaking his head a little. "Make sure you keep that ring safe, eh? And promise you'll ask me again. In a few years maybe."

There’s a lump the size of Manhattan in Jonny’s throat- thick and relentless. He swallows it down the best he can, wanting to remain strong in the face of Patrick’s vulnerability.

”You got it.”

Between the two of them Jonny is the more emotional one, the one more likely to blow up or shut down or storm off. He doesn’t react poorly often, but when he does, he loses himself. And instead of fixing the issue, he’ll run away. He doesn’t want to do that anymore, though. He’s on the cusp of becoming Captain and bringing hockey back to Chicago. He has to handle his moods better, tame his temper. For his future, for Patrick. He’s planning on taking yoga and meditation classes this upcoming summer to work on it.

But Patrick—

He’s so private, emotions always carefully guarded. He’s been judged and ridiculed more than any other hockey player on earth due to his size. Opening up, showing his cards...it doesn’t come easily. In fact, it happens so rarely Jonny considers it a privilege when Patrick reveals little truths about himself. God, he messed up tonight. He thinks about how lucky he is to know another side of Patrick. Most of their teammates have no idea what he’s really even like. _Jonathan_ probably wouldn’t even know, if they’d never been assigned as roomies—

He stops the thought, too upsetting to process completely. He reaches for Patrick, needing to feel him, and kisses him with a tenderness so delicate it’s almost painful. He’s anxious with wanting to convey the importance of their convergence; pouring the power and truth he feels in their bond into the kiss.

And even though no more words are spoken, Jonny can hear them loud and unwavering in his head—

_Some day, some day._

**Author's Note:**

> a collab by Tedda&littlelocaldreamer. What’d ya think?


End file.
